


But Saint Bernards Always Look Sad...

by SkyHighDisco



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Episode Related, Had to do it, S13E03, Small car big dog challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:29:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29958924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyHighDisco/pseuds/SkyHighDisco
Summary: The challenge with huge dogs in small cars was fun. What had to be done afterwards, wasn’t.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Link to the episode bit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nPpDx3QhTRQ&ab_channel=primeministersoffice)

The challenge is fun and over too soon. The mood is just right in James' mind despite the unavoidable mocking.

Until he gets briefed on the situation.

Millie the great dane belongs to a breeder. Lance the wolfhound is one of the studio director’s hunting hounds.

Alfie was pulled from a shelter. Just for the challenge.

James’ heart does a little twist at the fact.

So when James feels the tug of the blue leash from his hands, tuning out the sounds of the other two still laughing at him, he looks a tad startled. “Where are you taking him?”

The set PA gives him an odd look. “Back to the shelter, of course.”

James blinks. “Oh.” And then, almost immediately, “Could I do it, perhaps?”

The PA’s confusion amplifies. Alfie just pants and oozes saliva, getting cooked up in the thick coat in the merciless summer heat.

James talks to the people from the shelter (who came to monitor the dog and promptly take him back once the shooting session was over), and they agree on his plan he drives him back. James’ wish to do so intensifies when he sees a huge, claustrophobic-looking cage in the boot of the shelter’s Land Rover.

He will be tailgating the shelter people, too, which minimalizes the chances of getting lost.

“Careful, though”, the woman from the shelter tells him with a fond glimmer in her eyes, “He’s really quite lazy.”

Nonsense, James thinks. He’s been brilliant through the whole challenge.

He decides to take the IQ. It’s only poetic that he does. Besides, Alfie’s already marked it with slobber.

He also sees no aforementioned laziness when Alfie once again so readily jumps into the passenger seat. James promises Andy to be quick, as there is one more segment to film with their small cars. He won’t budge from his plan, though. The dog’s probably had his best day in a long time.

James will see it through.

The ride to the shelter is quite long. James doesn’t mind. Alfie doesn’t seem to, either.

They stroll through London in the general direction of the north and James minds to keep up with the Land Rover in front. And since it’s summer and pretty hot, James decides to open the windows.

Alfie happily sticks his huge head out, ears perking up and head cocking left and right at the passing people, other dogs, honks, and constables blowing whistles at the yobs.

“You won’t get that in that cage”, says James, sounding a bit proud.

When they stop at red traffic lights, people from the other lane point, laugh and wave at the sight of Alfie, not even realizing it’s James sitting in the driver’s seat.

“You’re getting more attention than me”, states James plainly, not minding in the slightest.

The shelter woman’s point about laziness finally comes to light when, while steadily snailing down the motorway, Alfie tries to lean into James’ side.

“Eugh, no, sit back up”, he complains and tries to shove the massive animal away, but only manages to get a hand tangled in more gob. “Alfie! You’ll sleep when we get there.”

The dog decides he quite fancies James as a pillow, though, so he rests his drooling snout on his shoulder and James tries not to flinch away when he feels the whole left side of his shirt getting soaked in gooey slobber. He sighs, makes a face, and pushes on with a half-asleep Saint Bernard taking over all of his personal space.

Thank goodness the cameras are removed.

Thankfully, Alfie does sit up once they’re off the motorway and James opens the windows again so the dog can enjoy the wind and the sunshine and James gets to breathe fresh air again.

When they arrive, he walks Alfie to the entrance of the shelter; the cacophony of dogs barking threatens to cause tinnitus for anyone who dares to enter.

“I don’t know about him, but it’s been fun”, says James to the volunteer and realizes he’s telling the truth, despite the ruined shirt and slimy car.

She smiles. “You’ve made his day, that much I can guarantee.”

Out of curiosity, and before he can remember to fear the answer, James asks, “How long has he been here?”

The volunteer pats the thick-coated dog with a sad smile. “We found him on the side of the highway when he was ten months old. Completely dehydrated and hungry, the poor thing. He’s five now.”

“... Oh.”

“People usually avoid this breed. Not just because they’re so big, but because they don’t live very long, and they are a huge responsibility. I love seeing a dog leave this doorstep more than anything in the world. But if it means it will end up tied to a tree on a foot-long chain...”

Suddenly, the dog stops panting. His ears perk up and his eyes become a little more visible. Attention directed up, completely at James.

James crouches. Scratches the animal’s head. “I wouldn’t do that to you, you know that?”

Alfie ducks his head and whines, eyes blinking up at James. He looks sadder than normal.

James sighs. “Sorry, Alfie. But I don’t think Fusker would like you very much. He doesn’t like anyone. I live in the middle of London so I don’t have an exciting yard. And missus would probably complain about the hair.”

Alfie licks his hand. James lifts it up, fingers apart; strings of gob stretch between them like a spider web. “And drool.”

The dog leans into him again, weight pressing against James’ knees, just like back in the car. But instead of leaning away, James gives Alfie’s side a few comforting pats. “You’ll be alright, chum. Someone will take care of you.”

But there is this resignation with which the Saint Bernard steps into his kennel, empty except for two bowls and a blanket, and no different than other cages save for their inhabitants. He immediately lays down, facing the corner and doesn’t move a muscle.

James feels that has nothing to do with laziness anymore.

“Bye, Alfie”, he wiggles a finger through the gap in the kennel panel.

The dog doesn’t react. James wonders how many times he has heard these words and how many people he’s seen leave to rather be facing that empty metal corner than another heartbreaking disappointment.

James ticks off all the boxes of logic about him and Sarah being away all the time and everything the volunteer has told him.

Still doesn’t help with the not-so-subtle ache in his heart.

Turning around on his heel and leaving the loud shelter seems to be the hardest thing James ever had to do.

He has a harder time falling asleep in the evening than usual.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked for a fix-it on the story, and it's only because of a coping mechanism that this has come to life. Hence inexcusable fluff.

James doesn't know what prompts him to return. It’s a casual Sunday with Sarah on the Continent and a lot less cars wooshing down the Hammersmith streets. The day is a bit lazy, with occasional tiny white cloud shyly appearing in the sky and disappearing just as quickly.

He isn’t even bored. There is a segment to do research for and in spite of Sunday being an excuse, James’ pedantic nature wouldn’t allow a second of time able to be used to go unused.

Then why is he sitting in a car and speeding down the motorway and down a familiar stretch of windy roads? He doesn’t even get lost on his way there. Before he consciously realizes what he’s done, he’s just suddenly there, in front of a noisy shelter.

The young volunteer he’s met previously is here. She instantly recognizes him and immediately happily agrees when he asks to see Alfie.

“Someone’s come to see you”, she tells the Saint Bernard when they approach the kennel.

“Coo-coo”, James clicks his tongue, offering a finger through the kennel gap. “Remember me?”

James honestly doesn’t expect so. It’s been two weeks since their challenge during which they couldn’t have interacted with their dogs for more than fifteen minutes. Sure James wouldn’t stop babbling to Alfie during the lap (and most of it was cut from the episode), but he doesn’t think the dog seriously acknowledged him at any point.

Yet after a few seconds of curious sniffing, brought-from-a-sleep Alfie starts to emit happy whines, he skips on his front legs and the lazy wagging of his tail becomes frantic.

“Oh, you do!” squeals the volunteer, and James can’t believe it.

Alfie can’t shove out of the kennel door no fast enough than he has ran towards Richard’s Irish wolfhound when it was halfway into the Alfa Romeo. Immediately once he does, he curls around James’ legs and it almost topples James over. And why is that the cause to have James grin like an idiot and use his voice two octaves higher than normal?

Fusker’s never greeted him like this enthusiastically. Sod it, no one’s ever greeted him this enthusiastically in his life.

Until he touches Alfie’s familiar saliva-soaked chest and instinctively pulls a face. It dawns on James that he doesn’t know why he’s really come here and what now that he’s seen the dog — but then the volunteer extends him the leash and says the magic word: walkies. Which sends Alfie into a renewed vigour attack. As vigorous as a middle-aged Saint Bernard can be.

“It’s Sunday” is the main excuse James drowns the other concerns with. Why not take his mind off work a little while still doing something good, he reasons while automatically accepting a huge brush, too. He is explained how there’s a place near the creek over the hill just behind the shelter where the big shot likes to be groomed. “It’s a hot summer. The more frequently he’s groomed, the less unnecessary hair he has on him and the less quickly he becomes dehydrated.”

James blinks at the fact he’s got all the way here without arguing once, but he’s already following the 200 pounds of Saint Bernard out the door into the sun.

Alfie almost pulls his shoulder out of its socket, but then James unhooks him from the leash after a look over the shoulder confirms they’re out of eyesight with a quiet, “You probably know the way better than me, I’ll just get lost.”

Alfie shoots off like a rocket. He is scarily fast for his size, but has this ridiculous body angle that makes James snort.

Lazy, right.

By the time James, breathless, catches up, Alfie has already drunk from the creek and is waiting for him under the shade of a large tree.

At the sight of the brush, he promptly topples over into the grass, all four paws in the air.

James can’t hold the chuckle back. “Look at you, you big cow. Want your brushy-brushy?”

It turns out it’s easier to brush a dog than a cat (something James has only attempted once because he’s seen an advertisement and considered himself lucky he’s given up only after a few deep scratches and bite marks). Alfie isn’t fussy at all. He allows James to touch his paws, move them about and out of the way, doesn’t even flinch when James accidentally kneels on his tail. The dog just generally looks like the happiest creature on Earth.

“The things you make me do”, mumbles James, ostensibly peeved. “I could’ve been doing some work. There’s some catching up to do. Trivia for the news segment. Actual research for the new challenge.”

_And yet he still drove all the way here._

_For the sake of everything that is holy, **why**?_

He doesn’t have an answer even after there is already an impressive pile that could make a real coat piled up to the side. James is so caught up in the wellness treatment he doesn’t realize how much he’s enjoying the combination of enjoyable labour and silence. In a bizarre comparison, it’s sort of like building Lego. Only more hairy. And slobbery.

He talks about contraptions, tools, trains, and how it all works. And feels a fuzzy delight at not being interrupted once.

“You listen well”, praises James. “Fusker always just buggers off. But not faster than those two clots you’ve had the misfortune of meeting two weeks ago. And I’m not talking about your furry colleagues.”

At some point it comes to light that Alfie is either cuddle-deprived or just a real-bear-sized teddy because out of nowhere, he completely sprawls over James, pinning him to the ground on his back in the process.

“No, Alfie- - ” is all that James manages before getting a mouthful of fur. His arms are trapped to the sides by the big front legs, so he can only lift his forearms, which he uses to pat the enormous bundle of fur behind the dog’s elbows. “I can’t brush you like that, you big cow”, James giggles at his own predicament. “I can’t do _anything_ like this, for that matter… You’re quite heavy, you know?”

Alfie rests his snout on James’ shoulder, already soaking it — and James’ hair — in a generous coat of slobber.

Getting on the dog’s good side might not have been such a smart idea.

“Ugh”, complains James, turning his head to avoid more invasive fur. “Disgusting. You know, you’re lucky it washes out of hair with shampoo, but how many more of my shirts will you ruin?”

Alfie’s only response is panting. James sighs, dropping the brush so he has another hand available to give the dog his wanted pets. “You’re worse than a cat. You are unnecessarily big, lazy, and too touchy.” James’ eyebrows shoot up at the conclusion. “You’re basically a dog version of Jeremy.”

After a moment, James attempts to gently shove the dog to the side, but Alfie only moves further over him, securing the hold of his paws to ensure James can’t move an inch. The dog clearly has no intention of releasing him anytime soon.

So James tries the verbal approach.

“Alright, I get it — yes, it’s hot under this fur coat of yours. I sympathize. Now would you mind getting off?”

Alfie seems to ignore him.

“It’s getting hard to breathe here, mate.”

Why _would_ he understand him in the first place?

“Walkies?”

Doesn’t work either.

James throws his head back into the grass with a defeated sigh. A curtain of leaves overhangs the man and the dog, making the sun a jittery white light seeping through the tiny gaps as the wind moves them. The murmur of the creek and the birdsong respond to the rustling.

“This is what my gravestone is going to say”, James says to the leaves. “Crushed by a Saint Bernard on a hot summer’s day. Found a week later under a ball of gob and fur. Will be sorely missed by his hungry cat.”

Alfie sniffs once between the rhythmic panting.

“Why do I have to do this for you anyway?” James keeps his complaining. “Cats groom themselves, why can’t you?”

James must’ve attempted to try to get up one more time and shove the Saint Bernard off because Alfie finally moves, but not to release him, rather he decides to throw James’ own words back at him by licking him with his huge pink tongue. “Not me!” yelps James, now doubling his efforts to escape, but no dice. He is completely trapped, unable to avoid the affectionate assault. He can’t even defend himself with his hands while Alfie happily laps across his face, his ears, the surrounding hair, and under his chin, depending on where James tries to twist his head away to hopelessly avoid the insistent tongue.

He is saved from being licked to death by a distant whistle intended probably for another dog, and it probably means lunch because Alfie finally jumps off him and runs like the wind in the direction of the whistle and the reward which it means.

Sitting up, James groans and wipes his face with both hands, shaking the saliva off the tips of his fingers. “They couldn’t have done that earlier”, he splutters. “ _Utterly_ disgusting. How does Hammond live with this every day?”

James does the recount: he’s been pulled, squashed, warmed in spite of the hot day, received a mouthful of dog hair and got completely covered in slobber.

And yet. And _yet_ he isn’t nearly as annoyed as he expects to be.

He goes to the creek to wash his face and hands, and tries to compose his dishevelled looks the best he can. But only a moron would be blind enough to not see that he’s just been glomped by a Saint Bernard.

Alfie waits by the group of his dog friends, not looking the least bit apologetic. He apparently has a tennis ball hidden somewhere in his saggy mouth and indicates to James he wants him to take it, but James has had quite enough of drool for one day.

He shoots the ball across the grass with a sneaker, though, chuckling as he watches the dog chase after it and clumsily tries to bring it back. They repeat this gig until Alfie gets caught in a wrestling battle with another dog.

When James decides it’s time to leave, the Saint Bernard would’ve followed him into the car if one of the shelter people hadn’t hooked him on a leash.

James smiles sadly. “Sorry, chum. Not this time”, he pats his head. “We can go for a ride next time, though. I’ll throw some blankets in the Panda and we can drive around.”

Alfie’s eyes, however sunken, are hopeful.

Only after leaving the side road to the motorway, James realizes what he said.

After a while, James stops questioning his decision to keep coming back whenever he can. He just does.

And never regrets it a single time.

He even gets used to the slobbery kisses.


End file.
